


here, with you, i always belonged

by fuglychan



Series: born to be wild [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, BDSM, Begging, But Mostly Smut, Crying, Dom/sub, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Precious Sam Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Slow Burn, Switches, Tickling, Touch-Starved Sam Winchester, Wrestling, i wrote this on withdrawls at four am so that's my excuse, of my two spn pics this is the mostly smut one ngl, these boys all switches, touch starvation, well an attempt at a slow burn but really like 8 measly pages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:53:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25726216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuglychan/pseuds/fuglychan
Summary: They've buried so much shit over the years, so it's no surprise that their love for each other was buried deep down somewhere inside the both of them. Sometimes it just takes an unsuspecting angel to clear things up.It's fucked up really. They never had a proper sense of family, and they're probably just mixing up signals, mixing up one type of love with another. That's what Dean tells himself, at least, not that it matters, though, because now that they have each other, they're not giving it up for the world.
Relationships: Castiel/Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Castiel, Sam Winchester/Castiel/Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester
Series: born to be wild [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1866085
Comments: 15
Kudos: 81





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> uhhh warning wincest i guess and uh yea ok

In all the time Cas has known the two, he’s got to know the brothers well — more than well, he can pick up on them so easily, and not just because of their pungent longing. Their footsteps, their mannerisms, their strange ways of never saying what they’re truly feeling — he knows them well. 

He likes to watch them. Dean stopped asking a long time ago when Cas vanished off the deep end. They’d pester him with phone calls, which he didn’t understand the point of. Now he makes sure to send a text when he gets wrapped up in angel business. 

Though, that’s not always what it is: “angel business”. Sometimes he’s here, just not visible to them. Dean doesn’t like him to get too close, but if he can’t see him, it’s fine. 

Cas had spent a lot of time wondering what his place was in the universe, and he still doesn’t know, but sitting here at the bedside of a sleeping Dean seems right. 

Dean’s leg is hiked up and his hand is tucked away under his pillow. He looks childish, curled up with his hands like that, but it’s not the case at all. His favorite .45, on safe, is tucked away in his hand. 

“It’s precaution” is his only explanation, but the fear is plain as day. They just don’t talk about it. 

Sam doesn’t sleep with a gun under his pillow. There’s one on his bedside, but he’s content with a small sheathed knife. He’s sprawled out on the bed and either is drowning in his blanket or is kicking it off of the bed. He calls out in his sleep loudly and clenches his hand like he needs something to hold on to. 

They both have nightmares. 

When Dean wakes up from his, he either is up for the day or he listens to his tapes to calm down. 

Sam will struggle to put himself together afterwards. He’s had years of practice, and it gets easier, but the dreams just get worse. 

When he was fueled with “mojo,” as they put it, he would will them to sleep. Dean would always protest in his sleep before going limp, whereas Sam would reach out desperately for anyone to hold close. 

Tonight, Sam was crying, buckling, kicking. Dean had been awoken from his sleep; it was hard not to hear his cries from his room. 

Even with their own rooms now, they couldn’t get far. It was only natural they slept only ten feet apart now, separated by a wall. 

Cas hadn’t been there, watching. He had picked up on the silent prayer before anything. 

“Shh, wake up, Sammy,” Dean was muttering, shaking him gently. “Come on, you son of a bitch, it’s just a nasty little dream.” 

“He has a concussion,” Cas spoke suddenly, scaring Dean slightly. He wasn’t surprised that much anymore. 

“I thought you were away on angel business.” 

It was pointless to point out that he never said anything about his business, that he just always assumes that. 

“He called me,” he explained simply, pressing his fingers against his forehead. Sam went limp only a moment later. 

“He did?” Dean sat down on the bed, ignoring the way Sam reached out towards him. “He’s been asleep for hours.” 

“The longing was stronger than usual tonight,” Cas noted. 

“Than usual?” He echoed. A smirk crawled on to his face. “Sammy pray to you often?” 

“He’s not aware of most of it.” 

“Uh-Huh,” he drawled, bouncing his leg. “How do you know?” 

“You’re not aware of your prayers either.” 

The smile dropped off the face of the earth. “Yeah, well,” Dean stammered, looking away. “He’s fine now.” Cas clearly wanted to say something else, but Dean cut in, “Don’t worry, I’ll give him hell for not telling me about the concussion. And I’ll give him your thanks.” It was unspoken at this point, so he didn’t see the point. He vanished, leaving Dean alone in the room with his resting brother. 

The next time Cas picks up on longing it’s from Dean, who is, no surprise, fast asleep. He bucked up in his sleep, his mouth opening as he twisted to the side. He’s reaching out for him in his dreams, having a rather vivid dream about the two of them. 

These are his favorite dreams. Dean will smile as he rides out his pleasure before waking up and washing off, always making some comment about being a teenager to himself. 

Dean calls these wet dreams. “Sam used to have them every night when he was a kid. Made sharing a motel room so…” Dean had once told him. He wanted to call him a hypocrite — he didn’t understand since he still had them about him or sometimes his brother. 

The ones about Sam were always interesting. And the ones with all three of them? Even more so. 

Sam’s were a bit more strange, much more abstract. He would dream about being hit, chained up, choked. It didn’t seem at all pleasant, but Sam got off on it. 

And they never talked about it. 

There’s no secrets in between them. Having demons, angels, ghosts, and whatever else possess their body every other day, no thought was kept secret between them. 

They just never talked about it? A lot of stuff goes on that they’re aware of, but they don’t bring to light. 

If they are so happy in these dreams, why can’t they kiss each other in real life? Sam dreams to be held, yet he pushes any affection coming his way. Dean craves to take care of someone to make up for the way he was poorly taken care of himself. Yet, neither of them act on it? Even though they both obviously need it, neither one of them will give in. After all these years if being with one another, with losing one another (and coming close to), they still fear each other the most than any monster they face. 

It never made any sense to Cas, but then again, most of the things that they do don’t make any sense to him. 

They just need a little push is all. 

So, he did. 

\--

Sam and Dean had been arguing way more than usual. They couldn’t be in the same room with each other without screaming. It was a mixture of not having enough of one another and having way too much. Sam was practically starving for his attention, seemingly pissing off his older brother just so he would give him the time of day. Dean was out, trying to avoid him by sleeping with as many women as he can. 

Even when Cas paid them a visit, they didn’t tone it down a bit, and they usually have more modest than to scream at each other in front of him. Well, to an extent. 

They were way past that now. 

“Just because you’re a prude doesn’t mean you can slutshame me,” Dean was saying, laughing a little at his own jab. “Honestly, Sam, would it kill you to get laid every once in a while? It’s been years?” 

Cas was silent, watching the scene unfold. It was only getting worse. 

Sam looked like he was about to fall apart, but he covered it up quickly, replacing any emotion on his face with anger. 

Dean was livid because if he wasn’t mad at him then he’d have to face the other feelings that bubble up whenever he’s around Sam too much. “I don’t fuck everything that walks!” 

“No, you’re just two hundred pounds of repressed nerd.” 

They kept going, back and forth, the topic changing every two seconds. They weren’t really fighting about anything - Sam just liked to bitch at him, and Dean liked to chew him out once he was angry. 

Cas has watched a lot of shitty romance movies lately. 

That’s the only explanation Dean can come up with when Cas steps in between them, grabs Dean roughly, and kisses him like the world’s ending. 

It’s harsh, teeth against teeth in an unpleasant way, but Dean’s too distracted by the thought of  _ what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck  _ to truly unpack how good the kiss was. He’s too busy smelling Cas, melting under the hands pressing against his face. 

Then he was gone. 

Sam was equally stunned, to say the least. His full-ride Stanford brain was moving a hundred miles a minute, but he couldn’t put a sentence together. Dean caught his eyes, not missing the plain as day jealousy on his face before it’s covered with confusion. “Cas?” It was all he could manage, and it was enough. 

Cas placed a hand against his back, sending any complaint about him touching him down his throat. He thought back to Sam’s dreams and then buried his face into his neck to give him a soft bite, and Sam made a strange keening sound before pushing him off. 

Face a dark red, he stepped away, “C-Cas!” 

“I’ve never heard that sound before,” Cas mused, tilting his head to the side. 

“You…” Dean was at a loss for words. “What are you doing, Cas?” 

He stepped closer to Dean, studying him carefully. “I saw it in your dream.” 

Dean wasn’t blushing as darkly as Sam was, but he couldn’t look him in the eye just the same. “Care to elaborate?” 

“Was it wrong of me?” 

“Yes,” Dean said quickly. “Don’t… Don’t do that again.” Dean’s face was pale. “I… I’m going to…” He didn’t bother finishing his sentence before retreating down the hallway. 

Cas turned around to ask Sam to explain his erratic behavior, but he wasn’t much help. “I… I need to…” 

At least they weren’t fighting anymore. 

The next time they fight it’s because Dean did something stupid to try and save Sam. They’re back at the bunker, but they’re not talking. There’s no fighting, no yelling, no nothing. Just silence. 

It’s terribly unsettling. 

Sam mopes and holes himself up in his room with the bad dreams. Dean’s not doing much better, but he knows better to visit him right now. 

So, he appears next to Sam in his bed and silently grabs his head and pulls him against his chest. Sam’s too tired to question it this time, and he buries himself in the angel’s cool warmth. He’s not crying, but he’s defeated. At a loss. 

God, he needed this so bad. 

“Dean,” Sam managed after a long time, and Castiel hushed him like it was second nature. It wasn’t. 

“I know,” he said in an attempt to be comforting. It’s the best he could do. 

It only goes downhill from there. 

Over the next few days, Dean is subject to the worst torture he’s ever faced before. He’s been in bad shape many times before, but watching his not-crush pepper kisses all over his younger brother - who he’s most definitely been sporting complicated feelings for for years - is hell in itself. 

It’s like a dam broke loose. Cas will show up, as he always does. They’ll talk, as they always do. 

But the quick harsh makeout session before Cas vanishes? That’s new. 

Sam always looks so surprised - he has as much as an idea about it as Dean does. Cas keeps hugging him, touching him, getting any physical reaction with Sam as possible. 

And it’s driving Dean up the wall. 

It’s early in the morning, and Sam and Dean are sitting in comfortable silence. Sam’s flipping through the pages of a book, and Dean’s sipping his coffee and reading his magazine. It’s peaceful until Sam’s leg just won’t stop bouncing - it’s from all that pent up energy - and Dean asks him to cut it out, but he just can’t. He’s giving him hell about it, and next thing he knows Cas is here, sitting on Sam’s lap, pressing his fingers against his lips. 

Dean spilled his coffee. 

_ It’s a Bitch-Face Neutralizer.  _

It’s not that it’s a new thought. Dean knows Sam - better than he knows himself. He knows what physical touch does to him. They were raised by the same unforgiving father. Dean grew up hungry for it, but he never had it. He quickly learned to replace those urges by taking care of other people (to cover up the fact he was never taken care of) and having sex whenever to let go. 

Sam, however, never gave up that easy. He was starved for it, always craved the feeling of someone to take care of him. He wanted to get fucked up, to be able to trust someone (one person, or two in particular) enough to be at their complete mercy. 

“Cas,” Sam breathed in, eyes flickering between him, Dean, and the floor. 

“You’re going to melt his brain,” Dean settled, drawing his attention, “if you keep kissing him like that.” 

“He was begging for it.” 

Sam fumed, bitch face back in action. “No,” he spat, “I wasn’t.” 

Dean ignored Sam. “If you want to spoil him, you’re dealing with the brat, not me.” 

Sam deadpanned, narrowing his eyes. “Since when am I a spoiled brat?” he grumbled. 

“You’ve always been,” Dean said as if it was obvious. Sam glared at him in return but stayed quiet. “Sam can’t handle that much action; you’ll kill him.” 

“It’s what he needs,” Cas said simply. “What you both need.” Dean challenged his gaze, but neither of them were willing to back down. “I want you both to let go.”

It was easier said than done. 

\--

Cas wasn’t planning on quitting with the touches anytime soon. In fact, they only escalated. Sam slightly raised his voice at Dean, and all of a sudden, Cas was there, touching him, grounding him. 

It pissed him off to no end. He loved Cas (in a couple different ways, one of them harder to confess to), but he wanted to hack his hand off with a machete every time he touched Sam. 

It was on a Tuesday that Dean finally snapped. 

They’d been in a fight over wrapping up the case, and it had quickly escalated into more. Sam was hurt on the floor, chest hitching with every breath. Dean was covered head to toe in blood that wasn’t his own. Cas was there to grab him tight, but Dean wasn’t giving him up easy this time. He grabbed on to Sam tightly and pulled him out of Cas’s grip. Cas could’ve held his ground and easily overpowered Dean, but he let him have him. This time. 

Sam fell right into Dean’s arms, back arching with the hands against his back. “Dean,” he said, and it came out as a cry. 

“Shh, let me take care of you.” 

Cas couldn’t help but smile. Everything was going according to his plans. 

Now that he had him in his hands, he had no intentions of letting go. “Cas got you all worked up, huh? Picking fights just so he’ll touch you?” Dean spoke, hating himself more and more with every word. It was dirty, it was wrong. He knew Sam wanted this, and it made it that much worse. 

“He’s been picking fights to get your attention long before I started touching him.” Right. Cas was still here. 

“Me?” Sam laughed, breathless. “Dean, you should look at yourself.” Dean was feral, hands digging into his Sam’s sides. Sam shivered at the touch, shying away from his brother. It was all too much too fast. “Are you jealous?” 

It’s silly being jealous of having the person you loved be touched by someone else. 

“Keep your hands off of him,” Dean said, settling with that. He pushed Sam away. 

“Dean, you can’t--!” Sam’s gritting his teeth. “Shut the hell up.” Sam was getting out of here. He couldn’t take another second. 

Cas stayed true to his word. Very soon, he was missing the way Sam scrunched up under his touch, but he knew it wouldn’t be long until everything fully fell into place. He just had to wait for the inevitable. 

It was driving Sam crazy. 

Dean kept touching him as normally. When handing him a beer, his other hand would linger just a bit longer than normal on his shoulder. He took every chance he got to touch him, but it was never the way either of them wanted. 

Dean was losing it himself - it was hard not to when everything Sam did drove him crazy. It was a two way street. They were both going to hell. 

“Born to be Wild” is blasting in the Impala. Sam and Dean are both stir crazy, they’ve been shooting insults at each other since the last stop. Cas sat invisible in the backseat, willing for them to give in soon. It was all so, so exhausting. 

The Impala pulled to a stop. If the music wasn’t so loud, Sam’s heartbeat would be apparent. 

Dean felt the staring, and he rolled his head over to take in Sam’s hungry eyes. “What?” he asked, turning down the music slightly. “What?” 

“You don’t want anyone else to touch me,” Sam said, voice breaking off. Dean’s eyes widened, taking in his words in disbelief. “You don’t want anyone else to touch me,” Sam repeated, cowardice fading in his voice, “but, you won’t touch me.” 

“Sam--” Dean started, but he was a goner as soon as Sam opened his mouth. Hell, he was a goner long before that. His weak spot would always be his brother. He would never be able to say no to him. 

“I’m going to kiss you,” Sam said simply, and then he did. His lips fell onto his naturally, but Dean wasn’t having it. He lost himself in the kiss before grabbing the back of his head. 

“Not here,” Dean said. It was a promise. 

Sam sunk in the passenger seat. “Why not?” He uncrossed his leg with a silent whine. 

“I’m not taking you apart in here,” Dean said simply. 

Sheepishly, Sam said, “You could pull over.” 

Dean studied him, trying to see if he was all too serious. Sam’s a lot of talk. “Nah, Sammy, don’t worry we’ll be home soon.” 

Sam’s about to bitch at him again, but as soon as Dean grabs his thigh with his free hand, Sam melts into the seat and shuts his mouth. 

Cas smiled smugly in the backseat. He was going to enjoy this.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ok ngl this chapter is more plot heavy, v lil fun times so skip if u wanna

Sam was fidgeting in front of the motel receptionist. “We don’t have any two beds left for tonight,” she informed them apologetically. “One room okay?” 

Dean feigned disappointment. “I’ll put up with the snoring for one night,” he shrugged, accepting the keys from her. Sam flashed her a nervous smile before they were taking off. 

Dean was on him the second the door clicked open. He stumbled in, taking Sam with him, kissing him like his life depended on it. 

“Wait,” Sam said, pulling away from Dean with a harsh intake of breath. 

Dean let go like his Sam was scalding. His eyes were wide with a fear he doesn’t get to see exposed often. “Sam, I’m sor--” 

“No, doof, the door!” Sam said, pointing to where the door was wide open. “Someone could see.” Dean visibly relaxed, taking a step back to kick the door shut. “You’re not gonna lock it?” 

“You don’t like a lil’ danger? Maid walkin’ in?” 

“Or a demon,” he corrected, narrowing his eyes. “Come on.” 

Dean was gonna lock the door. There was no way he wouldn’t. He locked it and returned to Sam, filling the space in between them so naturally, like they were built for each other. 

Sam’s awkward and lanky, and even though Dean fits against him so perfectly, he still tumbled a little when he was pounced on. He pushed him until he fell back, gasping until his backside bounced against the mattress. Dean was climbing on top of him, fists clenched with his flannel tucked away under his fingers. 

Sam bucked up, grinding against him, stopping shortly. They moved against each other, not really humping, just exploring - hands on one another. Teeth clashed against teeth and skin and buttons until they were both gasping into each other’s mouths. 

And then Dean stopped. 

“Dean?” Sam was breathless, chest hitching. “Did I…?” He stopped short, hesitant. “Did I do something wrong?” 

Dean was silent. “We shouldn’t have stopped here.” 

Sam sat up in the bed, giving space for Dean to fall to his side. He swung his feet over the bed and buttons up his flannel. “We’re still ten hours out from the bunker, Dean, and you’ve been driving all night.” Sam’s heart flutters. He watched Dean cautiously, waiting for him to slip up and show what he’s feeling. 

“I don’t want to do this with you here.” 

Sam doesn’t try and hide the hurt across his face. 

“No, Sam,” he said, looking away from him. “You’re too good for this.” For me. 

“If you’re worried about me thinking I’m some cheap fuck, don’t worry,” he said, biting his lip. Dean wasn’t relenting. “It’s okay.” 

“I’m not fucking you here.” Okay. Dean was being really weird about this. 

Sam couldn’t blame him. 

“Okay,” he said, simply, deflating a little. “I’m going to go take a shower.” The  _ and jerk off  _ was unspoken and implied. 

\--

They spend the majority of their car rides in silence. Not total silence - there’s always the rattling of those old lego bricks, the AC whistling softly, and the radio playing. Sam had fought for the radio today, usually he puts up with Dean’s same tracks, but he needed a break. A distraction. 

Dean doesn’t seem to mind. He liked to tap his finger against the wheel as he drove way too fast, not that it mattered anyways because there isn’t any traffic at all out on these backroads. They hadn’t seen any sign of life for at least an hour now. 

The radio’s mostly static. Sam has no choice but to slip in a cassette tape. He takes out his phone and slips his earbuds in. 

He’s only a couple tracks in when Dean’s yanking it out of his ear. “What are you listening to? More hair rock?” 

“No,” he said, grabbing his earbud back from where it was dangling. “It’s alt rock.” 

“I want to hear too.” Dean’s focused on the road. It was one of his pet peeves. Sam gets holed up in his music and boring podcasts too easily. “Give me one.” 

“It’s shit music. You’ll only make fun of it.” 

He shrugged. Sam sighed and handed over one of his earbuds. 

Dean didn’t make fun of his music, even though he could tell he wanted to. Sam even played some of his feminist punk music, but Dean only shot him a look, not really surprised or angry or judgemental. 

He looked content. 

It was disturbing, to say the least, to see him so relaxed like this. 

“Night Moves” came on, and honestly, Sam forgot he had this song on the playlist. He wants to skip it, but Dean’s already humming along to it. 

Halfway through the song, Dean’s singing loudly now, and he looked over expectantly at Sam. 

“Eyes on the road, jackass!” he said, sitting up and looking behind him as the Impala hits a curve sharply. 

“I’m a professional, Sammy.” 

“No, the fuck, you aren’t, look!” 

“Sam, I’m not brakeing for a damn turtle.” 

\--

By the time they were back at the bunker, they were both starving. “Should we go grab something?” Dean suggested. 

“No,” Sam whined, dragging his feet. “We just got home; I want a shower.” 

They shuffled into the bunker. As Dean fumbled with the keys, he muttered, “If we didn’t stop to save the damn turtle, we’d be home a lot sooner.” 

“Stop calling it that. It’s a tortoise.” 

“Tomato, tomato.” 

“No, tortoise,” he said, tapping him on the nose, deadly serious. Dean’s shoulders dropped a bit. 

“Okay, fine.” He shrugged. “If we didn’t stop for the tortoise, we would’ve been home a lot sooner.” 

“Shut up, asshole,” Sam said, not sounding pissed, but he was still stomping off towards his room. 

Sam wasn’t really mad. He was just tired and upset and a little blue-balled. Things weren’t going as planned. 

He used to be so comfortable around Dean, but now there’s this new anxiety brewing between them. Kissing him feels so natural, but is he supposed to sleep in his bed now? Shower together? Do that cuddly, warm, fuzzy marriage shit? 

Whoa, wait, he’s skipping a few steps. A whole lot of steps. 

It’s just Dean. It’s just Dean. It’s just Dean. 

Dean who sings when he’s drunk, who walks bowlegged, who gets a runny nose everytime it’s a little too cold outside. He knows Dean. 

But this Dean? He’s new. He’s never met him before. 

And that’s terrifying.

Sam presses his ear against his door to detect any sign of life. There’s music softly playing - Sam can makeout the remnants of an ACDC song from Dean’s old headphones. He’s listening to his angry playlist. 

Sam hates himself a lot, but right now, the self hatred is brewing a bit stronger than usual because Dean’s pissed at him and he knows it’s something deeper than the turtle - fuck, tortoise! Something’s eating at Dean, and Sam’s not a fucking mind reader. 

He’s such an idiot. 

He’s cooked before in the apartment he shared with Jess. It was cheaper than eating out, and she was amazing at it, and she’d try and teach him a few things. It never ended well, not really, but… He did cook for himself before - he had to. When Dean and Dad were gone, he’d boil some mac and cheese. 

Surely, he can make a damn burger. 

\--

Dean’s eyes are open now. His music is blaring, but he’s only half awake, flipping through the pages of a skin mag. He debates cutting Sam’s picture out of a photo and glueing it on there to freak him out, but he decides against it. They don’t have that many pictures anyways. 

“Come together” by the Beatles is blasting through his headphones when a bloodcurdling scream interrupts him. He rips the headphones off. “Sam?” he called, grabbing his gun and fast walking down the hallway. 

“Go away!” Sam’s yelling, and there’s no way Dean misses the tremor in his voice. Yeah. Something’s wrong. He slows down and rounds the corner. 

The kitchen is an absolute mess. There’s what looks like rocks sitting on the stove, and an alarm going off. Sam’s covered head to toe in flour. He’s wearing one layer of clothes, which by Winchester standards, is practically naked. He’s shivering and sucking on his forefinger. 

“Sam?” 

He whipped his head around, hair falling off his shoulder. Dean’s hands itch for a pair of scissors. “I burnt my finger,” he said, eyes dangerously dark. 

Dean crouches down to his level. Usually he has to crane his neck to look at him, but now, he’s having to crouch down to the mess on the floor. “On… what?” His cheeks flushed, and his mouth opened to yell at him, but he fell silent soon after and pointed at the rocks on the stove. “Use your words, Sammy.” 

“I made dinner,” Sam admitted softly. 

“You…” He looked behind him. “You… What is that supposed to be?” 

“It’s a hamburger!” he frowned. “I think the dessert turned out okay.” 

“Don’t tell me…” He looked to the other suspicious rock on the stove. “Don’t tell me that’s a pie.” 

“You’re an asshole.” Sam was storming off, and Dean chased after him. He scooped the rock - no, pie, off the stove and shoved it into his mouth. 

“Look, I love it.” He spoke frantically, pieces of crisp pie falling out of his mouth as he chased him down the hallway. He gripped ahold of his shoulders roughly, spinning him around, but Sam was already pushing his palm against his cheek, cringing as more pie slipped out of his mouth. “It’s great - best pie I’ve ever had.” 

“Stop, you’re so gross!” Sam said, cringing even more when Dean licked the side of his face. “Ew, Dean, stop!” 

“How am I supposed to resist when you’re naked, making pie for me?” 

“I’m not even--” He breaks off sharply, pushing him off roughly. “What the fuck is with you? You’re on me, you’re pissed at me, you’re licking me… Cut it out, man!” 

“I wasn’t mad at you,” he said simply, as if it was plain as day. “I’m not mad at you.” 

“Then why are you being so weird?” 

Dean sighed heavily. “It’s…” When it was clear Dean wasn’t going to finish his sentence, Sam was in action. 

“I know communication isn’t really our thing, but if we’re going to try this out, then you should be more honest with me.” 

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You’re talking about my communication skills when you can’t even say what ‘this’ is.” 

Sam’s face was beet red. “Well, you don’t know either!” 

“Sure, I do,” Dean hummed. “Marriage, 41k, affairs.”

“Can we even get married?” 

“Do you want to?” 

… 

“Okay, back up, back up!” Sam said, holding his hands up. “No, no.” 

“You  _ don’t  _ want to get married?” 

“What?” Sam exclaimed. “Do you?” 

“If you wanted to, I would.” 

“What kind of answer is that? So nonchalantly? You don’t care either way?” 

“Sam, we’re brothers that have been wanted by the FBI like, what, five times now? If we got married, it wouldn’t be official, anyways.” 

“Well, I know that…” 

“Stop being so pissy about it. We can get married if you want.” 

“I don’t want to!” 

“Make up your damn mind.” 

…

Cas was getting sick of this. It was going to be a lot harder than he thought.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is such a hot fucking mess and im gonna say ill scrap it and rewrite it later but tbh im so damn busy that i def won't so deal w it aight
> 
> i think it's so funny i work 50 hour work weeks and then come home and treat fan fiction like it's my life's work at like 3 am i 
> 
> this probably makes no sense im sorry y'all lmaoooo if ur reading this im actually sorry for u (but a lot of y'all are su[er sweet and i love and appreciate yawls comments so fucking much, i love y'all so much 
> 
> xoxoxo till next time lmaooooo


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> angst and shitty porn warning? badly discussed feelings? idk

It’s fucked up - what he’s doing, and what exactly is he doing? Dean doesn’t even know. It’s so fucked up, the way he was raised, the way he raised his little brother only for him to grow up a brotherfucker. It’s sick, and it’s all his fault. 

What would Dad think of him? How is this protecting him? 

He knows he shouldn’t have said anything. He should’ve pushed Sam away, told him to piss off instead of this. Anything would’ve been better than this. 

If only he wasn’t so damn adorable, maybe he’d be able to think straight. 

Sam was still pissed off at him, not that he can’t blame him any. He’s been totally off and on, and now he’s just off, barely hanging on. 

He’s pretending to be buried in a book, but he knows he’s not really reading it. He’s been on the same page for at least a minute, so either it’s really interesting that he had to re-read it or he’s just pretending to be busy. 

He’s chewing on the top of his pen. It’s a gross habit that Sam would chew him out on, yet he does it himself. He doesn’t even notice he does it. He’s got a blank look in his eyes, something dark behind those hazel eyes. Whatever he’s daydreaming about, it’s good. 

He stepped up behind him. “Sam?” No response. “Sammy?” Nothing. He kneeled over and blew a hot breath on his neck, and he was scrambling out of his seat. 

“Dean!” he barked, hand on his neck. “Don’t do that when I’m focusing!” 

“Focusing on what?” he snatched the book from him. 

“Shut up,” he hissed, reaching for it, but Dean was already moving. “Give it back.” 

“Nah, I wanna know what was so entertaining.” 

“Dean! Seriously, give it back!” Dean smirked and opened it, but as soon as he did, Sam was scrambling and knocked him over. “Stop, asshole!” 

But it was too late. Dean had already caught a glimpse of the pages. “You’re reading chick flick!” 

“It’s not a chick flick if it’s a book,” he hissed. “And, it’s suspense, technically!” 

“Nuh-uh, this is a Mommy Porno,” he snickered. “Sam, how’s it feel to be a MILF?” 

Sam punched him square in the jaw. 

Really, it was his fault, anyways, since he’s the one that looks so cute when he’s mad. 

\-- 

“I think I made things worse.” 

It was in the middle of the night when Cas worked up the nerve to speak to Sam. “Cas?” Sam asked, voice raspy, sitting up in his bed slowly. He was yawning. “What’s wrong?” 

“I made things complicated between you and Dean.” 

The sleepiness left him with a couple of blinks. Sam patted the bed beside him, and Cas eventually picked up the cue to slide under the blanket. “You didn’t do anything,” Sam sighed, dropping his head on his shoulder. “We’ve always been like this.” 

Cas sighed deeply. “I don’t understand.” His shoulder was tense. “He wanted… It was in his dreams. You.” 

“Dean doesn’t think he deserves anything he wants,” Sam said, cracking a wry smile. And then it dropped off. “Yet he’ll indulge me any chance he gets.” Cas was quiet, intent on letting Sam ramble. “Pretending to like me just so I’ll be happy? It’s sick.” Cas wanted to tell him it wasn’t like that at all, but he couldn’t find the words. Nothing he says will make him feel any better. “I love him so much, and I know he loves me too. But it’s not the same.” 

Yeah, like hell. 

When Cas visits Dean, he’s in a worse shape. He’s conflicted, covered in guilt. He reeks of it. 

“Hello, Dean,” he greeted glumly. Dean doesn’t acknowledge him, not at first. He’s not as welcoming as Sam is, not outwardly anyways. 

“What’re you doing here, Cas?” 

“You love Sam.” It wasn’t a question. Dean looked up at him. “You two insist on hurting each other instead of facing what you both want. I don’t understand why you won’t let yourselves be happy.” 

“Yeah, well,” Dean drawled, lifting his beer up to his lips, “sometimes I don’t understand it either.” 

There’s a soft knocking at the door. “So get this…” 

\-- 

It all went south too quickly, like all hunts inevitably do. 

Somehow it always ends with one of them on their back. “Fuck!” Sam hissed to himself, cradling his side. His hand is covered in blood, only some of it his, most of it from the dead body lying a few feet away from him. 

He’s hurting pretty badly, not that it matters because Dean will be there soon. 

As if on cue, he burst in, guns blazing. “Sam?” he called, eyes scanning the room for him. 

“Over here,” he called, scrambling to sit up once he got to him. 

“You okay?” he asked, checking him over for any wounds. 

“I’m fine,” he said, eyes rolling as Dean continued to check him over. 

“Don’t know why I even asked.” He lifted his arm up and checked the blood pooling on his back. 

Dean helped him to his feet, supporting him all the way, even though Sam didn’t really need it. He hooked his arm over his shoulder, taking the majority of his weight for him. 

“You really let that vamp beat you up.” They reach the hood of the Impala, and Dean ever so gently unhooks his arm around him and sets him down. “Don’t worry, I’m going to take care of you.” 

He lifted up the hem of his shirt with their shitty first aid kit in his hands, but Sam was pushing it away. “Dean.” It was more of a plead than anything else. 

Dean set it next to him on the roof, looked at his blood-covered brother and decided he was the most kissable thing in the world. Hands sunk deep into his hair, Dean took ahold of him with a death grip. “Dean!” he squeaked, surprised but widely amused. 

“Should’ve done this years ago.” He picked him up and threw him in the backseat of the Impala. 

“Thought,” Sam started, breaking off with a gasp as Dean started unbuttoning his shirt, “Thought you wanted to wait. To chicken out.” 

“Fuck that,” he said, stripping it off of him. “You’re mine.” 

And it was fucked, truly, but they were already going to hell. Every second of this, Dean hates himself more, and Sam hates himself more, but their love for each other outpowers their self hatred. 

Sam fidgets in the backseat, curling within himself as Dean climbs over him. He’s too big for the seat back here, and it’s even more cramped with his older brother on top of him, and there’s no room for his long limbs to go. 

“Lift your hips,” Dean instructed, and Sam raises an eyebrow. 

“I don’t have any room.” 

“Sam.” Giving in, he attempts to lift his lips, ending with a wince on his face. “Sam--” 

“No, come on!” he said, bashing his fist into the seat. “I’m not made of glass, Dean! Fuck me!” 

“I won’t let them hurt you.” 

“What?” Sam had to laugh. In this line of work, they’ll always get hurt. This isn’t the first time, and it definitely won’t be the last. 

Dean met his eyes, and Sam fell silent. “I won’t let a single motherfucker take you away from me.” He was squeezing Sam so tight that it hurt. 

“Okay, Dean.” 

It was a promise. 

Dean was gentle with him, the best he could manage. “You’re mine.” 

“Okay, Dean.” 

… 

“Dean?” 

He was still on top of him. “I can’t stop myself.” 

“Dean--” 

“Please,” he said, grabbing ahold of his face, “I’m yours.” 

Dean would kill everyone to see that breathless smile. 

“Tell me if anything hurts.” Dean’s hands are trailing everywhere, leaving no spot of Sam untouched. Sam buckled, a strangled sound escaping his lips. “Sam?” Concern drips from his voice. “Sam?” He’s twisting away, not wanting him to see him. 

“It’s embarrassing,” he confessed when Dean gripped the sides of his face and pulled him out to where his red flushed face was on display. 

His concerned expression is replaced with a smirk. “What’s wrong, Sammy?” 

“You,” he hissed, “are an asshole.” 

He hummed, kissing him. 

Hands pushed against him, and next thing Dean knows, he’s being pushed to the side, and Sam is climbing on top of him. “You move so slow,” he said, face still burning as his shaking hands struggled with his belt. 

“Sam.” 

“Shut up.” His hands were shaking too badly to unhook the piece of metal. Dean placed his hand on his, calming him. 

Sam closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath, savoring the feel of Dean to try and calm himself. “Did you forget who’s in charge already?” And, fuck, his eyes are fluttering open, and Dean’s gripping his hair tight, pulling on it, and Sam moaned brokenly. 

“Fuck, Dean,” he mewled, a pitiful noise. 

“All I have to do is  _ touch  _ you and you melt, and you’re trying to take control? Baby, you can barely sit up straight.” 

Sam wanted to protest at the pet name, but he was too busy shaking with all the attention that he couldn’t get the words out. 

“F-Fuck you,” Sam managed, lifting himself up, and Dean slipped a finger into his hole. 

“Dude, you’re dripping like a girl,” he said, gathering some of the precome from his dick to use as makeshift lube. 

“I don’t need any prep,” Sam said, shifting his eyes. 

He slipped in another finger with no warning. “But you’re not the boss here, are you?” His other hand grabbed at his throat. “Say it.” 

“Dean--” He squeezed, hand moving to grip the back of his neck, playing with his hair. “Fuck, I’m yours, I’m yours!” 

“You curse too much,” Dean said, and before Sam could shoot back a response, he buried his fingers in his mouth. Sam sucked on them, mouth making a “pop” when his fingers slipped out. 

“I can take more than two fucking fingers,” he said, rolling his eyes. 

Dean tsked. “It’s not about what you can take.” He curled his forefinger. “You’ve always been so impatient.” 

“Dean.” 

“I’m taking care of you, Sam.” He always would. But not soon enough. 

“Dude, if you don’t hurry up, I might kill you.” 

“You’re such a brat.” Indulging him, he adds another finger, stretching him until Sam bats his hand. He gave Dean’s dick a couple strokes, lining it up with his hole before sinking in with a wince. A tear welled in his eye, but Dean didn’t raise no bitch. He kissed it away and stroked him through it, and soon enough, Sam was struggling to lift himself up and fuck himself on his brother’s cock. 

“Fuck,” he cried out, rolling his head back as Dean thrusted up, throwing him off guard. “F-Fuck!” 

“That’s what I’m doing.” 

It pissed him off - he should’ve known Dean was still snarky as hell during sex. Smug, too, like the bastard he is. 

Sam’s on top, yet he’s the one strung out, legs shaking like a newborn deer. It’s mortifying to look this childish in front of the man he idolizes, but here he is, shaking like a leaf while sinking down on his dick with a hand around his throat. 

“I want to fuck you on the roof of Baby,” Dean said gruffly. “In the bunker, in every room. In every state. Canada, too.” 

“Canada doesn’t have states,” Sam said, gasping when his cock brushed against his prostate. “Fuck! T-They have provinces.” 

“I’ll fuck you in each of those, then.” 

“Maybe,” he broke off, grabbing the back of his neck as he sunk down again, “just start with right now?” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not to sound like im fishing for compliments or anything but i literally HATE this i just want to write smutty one shots bc that's all that i can do???? i try and do a little bit of plot and all of a sudden i forgot how to write a scene,,,
> 
> anyways this is all really fluffy i feel like??? im so fucking sorry y'all i PROMISE im trying just,,,, honestly its so hard to write these two when they have so much angst
> 
> im working on it anyways ok bye

**Author's Note:**

> im so fucking tired and this was born 
> 
> anyways if ur interested in a pt 2 lemme know bc uhhhh i got some plans anyways thank y'all bye


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